Huge Plane, Tiny Runway
by AmbulanceRobots
Summary: If you've read CH 12 of War Stories, you're familiar with these two. Thrust Skyhigh is forty-nine going on nineteen, and life is an adventure. Orbit Slipstream is there to make sure he doesn't kill himself in the process. Canon characters will only be mentioned in passing, if at all. This will be updated sporadically, when I get the itch. Chapters are not posted chronologically.
1. Chapter 1 - Huge Plane, Tiny Runway

Orbit rolled fiercely as a gust of wind pushed her hard to port. It was amazing, in a really terrible way; just a couple hours ago she and Thrust had been several thousand feet up in some truly fantastic, sunny weather. Now, she wasn't sure if she remembered what the sun felt like. She blinked hard through the driving sheets of rain, her field of vision only illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning. She could feel her radar ping off of Thrust, about a mile ahead of her. It was moments like this where she was a bit jealous; if she weighed one-hundred and twenty-five tons and had engines spitting out over a hundred thousand pounds of thrust like it was nothing, this weather might not bother her, either. As it was, his only reaction so far had been, "ooh, look at all this water! Gonna make the runway slippery."

Ya think? She could slap him.

Her radar sent her an alert; she was gaining on Thrust rapidly, and he was swiftly losing altitude. She also noted his sudden change in heading, their almost straight north flight plan having jogged substantially to the west. She double-checked her positioning before dipping just below the cloud layer. Up ahead, she could see Thrust's running lights; he was only a few hundred feet away, and she could see the lightning reflecting off his rain-slick plating. All his flaps were down, and he had already dropped his landing gear. She frowned; Thrust lived on the edge of everything, to the point that sometimes Orbit worried that he would kill himself when he finally overestimated his abilities. He did not do caution well. So why he would be flying so low for an airport that was still a hundred miles out was beyond her.

"Thrust, pull up. You are dangerously close to the ground." Over neighborhoods, too. She wondered if they would be receiving another call from the TMST soon.

"I gotta land, babe. Like, right now. Like five minutes ago." His voice sounded a bit strained, like something hurt.

"What's wrong?"

"I think… I think there's something wrong with my starboard engine."

It was at this moment when his number three engine backfired loudly, sparks and flames belching briefly from the exhaust. Orbit heard something that sounded suspiciously like a gasp or a wince, and Thrust lost another hundred feet or so of altitude before restabilizing.

Well, slag.

"What just happened?"

"I don't know. My fan blades aren't turning, and something in the turbines feels like it's grinding on something."

This was just getting better and better.

She could hear his remaining two engines roar as they picked up the slack; she could see the slightly clumsy bearing that came with killing power to an engine. All jets were able to fly using only one of their engines, but that hardly meant that it was comfortable or safe to do so. Thrust was at full power as often as possible. Having to drop a third of his velocity was probably just as frustrating for him as it was painful.

"Orbit, I'm on final approach on one-one-eight-point-niner-zero."

Orbit made the switch. How he'd known the frequency for an airstrip that they had no plans to stop at was beyond her. No matter; Thrust was already in contact with ATC.

"_HWD Tower, this is Skyhigh SH114_."

"_SH114 this is HWD Tower, altimeter one-five-point-eight, go ahead_."

"_I've taken damage to my number three engine, unknown cause. Requesting an emergency landing. Currently to your southeast, flight level twenty_."

"_Roger SH114. Maintain flight level until you have a visual of the runway. Squawk two-four-seven-zero, proceed to runway two-eight left, cleared to land. Maintain speed two-twenty, traffic on your six o'clock, less than a mile, your altitude_."

"_Visual on traffic. This was a flight of two, same flight plan_."

"_Roger. SP67, reduce speed to one-thirty, maintain visual separation_."

"_Roger Tower_." Orbit didn't much see the need to reduce her speed that far; the sheer alacrity that Thrust could reach put her, and many other craft, to shame. Arguing with ATC, though, especially when they were accommodating his emergency landing, tended to be both in bad taste and more trouble than it was worth.

Orbit pulled power as much as she dared and copped a quick look at her speed. One-sixty. Eh, hopefully they wouldn't care. Thrust was square to the runway, about two miles up from her. Even through the rain, his running lights and huge frame were hard to miss. ATC crackled over her radio again.

"_SH114 this is HWD Tower. What is your make?_" They sounded confused a bit, and Orbit could fathom why. Now that Thrust was tuned to their transponders…

"_L-ten-eleven_."

"_Uh, are you sure you can't make it to OAK just a few miles up? That's a bit bigger than we're used to handling here_…" And there it was. Huge plane on a tiny runway. Not a problem that Thrust hadn't encountered many times before, but _definitely_ new when he was down one engine and in the rain.

"_Don't worry, Tower, I'm sure you'll do just fine_." Orbit didn't know if she wanted to hit him or kiss him; making an emergency landing due to engine failure, in the driving rain and high wind, and he still had the manifolds to give ATC a little sass. If he still had an edge to his tongue, he couldn't be in too much pain. Maybe.

"_SH114, it's not us we're worried about_." Thankfully this was a smaller airport, where they clearly let sass slide right over them more often.

"_Too late, I'm making this happen_."

Orbit didn't realize she was holding her breath until she gasped as his landing gear hit the tarmac rather hard. He put his front wheels into the ground as fast as he was able, and she heard both his brakes and his thrust reversers engage. The resident crash tenders were lining the runway as he landed, and made to follow him as he barreled in. Orbit took a deep breath and found herself grinning like an idiot. The lug had made it safely onto the ground, and was clearly feeling fine, considering he was still charging down the runway at a great deal of speed. She dropped her own gear and made to land, worried about catching up to her raucous companion later. Like he was going to be able to limp quickly away from her. Odd though, usually his landings were much noisier than this.

"_HWD Tower, I have a problem._"

No.

"_SH114, does it have anything to do with why you're still doing one-hundred-ten on the runway?_"

No no.

"_How'd ya know? My engine one thrust reversers are not engaging._"

_Fuck._

Excuse her language.

Orbit dropped to the ground as fast as she was able, intent on touching down before the tower could tell her to take another pass around. Up ahead, she could hear Thrust's number two engine scream as he put all available power to it, and she could see the vortex that swirled around his tail as his one remaining reverser did the work of three. His brakes were smoking as he bore down on them, settling his weight into them as he did all he was able to get a grip on the momentum that hurled his bulk down the tarmac. And the rain-slick asphalt was not helping any either.

The ARFFs up ahead were picking up speed, and she could see a whole line of them out in front of Thrust. She realized that they were staging at the end of the runway, the bright red warning lights bright enough to be easily seen from where she was, even in the rain. Thrust was running out of tarmac, and _fast_. Orbit did not bother engaging her own brakes on the ground; she let her engines push her after Thrust. She could smell burning rubber as she went, and her lights illuminated the deep black, fresh tire tracks he was leaving behind him. She drove face first into a thick cloud of smoke, gagging as is cloyed in her mouth and adhered to her intakes. Her speed took her out of it quick enough, and she stopped coughing long enough to kill her engines hard and slam on her own brakes. She was right at Thrust's tail, and he was not moving. She could hear his engine winding down slowly, steam rising from it as the rain struck the hot plating. Even from so far below it, she could feel it radiating against her own hull.

"Thrust!"

"H-hey babe."

She did not really expect the crash tenders to move out of the way for her—they had a job to do, after all—but they did. The ones towards the front were even smiling. Why the hell—

"_HWD Tower, this is SH114. Looks like the adventure is done, and I didn't end up on the lawn._"

Cheering. Lots of cheering, especially from the ground crew gathering around them, and some more from other inbound aircraft who shared a frequency with them.

"_Roger that. Thank your for livening up our day, and scaring years off of our lives. OAK will be sad they missed out on the fun._"

"_I'm sure I can think something up for them on the way back._"

Orbit finally got up to the front of the sizable group of emergency vehicles gathered around the stricken Lockheed. Facing Thrust was a big, grizzled crash tender that wore an expression that hovered somewhere between exhasperation and thoroughly humored, as if he was trying very hard not to smile. Thrust himself had no such issues; he had on the biggest, most painful slag-eating grin she'd ever seen on him.

"Heya, pretty lady."

Orbit could do nothing but sputter.

"Please be kidding."

"Oh, don't be like that. Look, I even stopped in time!"

No fooling. His nose gear was right at the edge of the tarmac. Another foot, and he'd have face-planted into the sodden grass, which likely would have caused him more damage. She looked up at him, glared, opened her mouth, shut it, glared some more, and then just sighed. Thrust beamed at her the entire time.

"I give up."

"Aw, it was all an accident, really!"

"You just… gah, nothing I say is gonna make you take this seriously anyways."

"Hell no. That sounds awful." Typical.

The big crash tender rolled his eyes.

"You guys make this sound like a routine occurrence."

"Nope, this is special, just for you." Thrust sent him a smirk and a wink.

"And we thank you ever so much." Such sarcasm. Many cynicism. Wow.

"Anything else we can do for you while we're here, Captain?"

"Yes. Never land here again. I was inside watching the race, now I'm out in the rain as you try to kill yourself."

Thrust's eyes brightened.

"Ooh, who was winning?" Orbit resisted the urge to hit her face against something very, very hard.

An airport tug hooked up to Thrust's nose gear and began the arduous task of leading him toward the only hangar that might be able to house him. Orbit followed along behind, not yet sure if she was going to smother the cheeky jet in his sleep, or jump his struts out of relief. As they made their way slowly across the airport, Orbit was quickly abandoning both ideas in favor of just heading to sleep. Now that she was free from the grip of her adrenaline, she was exhausted. And cold, and wet. As they approached the very dry, very _warm_ looking hangar, already full of the mechanics who would determine to what extent the TriStar managed to jack himself up, Thrust waggled his tail and sent her a quiet alert on a private frequency. Not so much an alert, per say, as a caress. And maybe an apology.

Yes, she was going to sleep well tonight. Just as soon as she jumped his struts in relief.

* * *

AN:

Done just because. I like these two, they're fun to write.

Words!

HWD/OAK: HWD is the Hayward Executive Airport, OAK is Oakland International Airport. They are very close together, but Oakland is much bigger. Hayward handles smaller local and private planes. From where I go to school, if you stand facing north, you can watch small planes land at Hayward on the right, and huge jet liners and cargo planes land at Oakland on the left. They get low, and it's very cool.

Number Three Engine: Aircraft engine numbers always start from the left. So Thrust's engine one is port, his number two is on his tail, and his number three is starboard.

Thrust reversers: These vary in style and implementation, but they take a plane's thrust from the engines and point it forwards, reducing wear on the brakes and allowing them to stop much sooner than they would normally. If you take a window seat next time you fly, you can see and hear it happening when you land; most of it takes place out of sight under the wing (at least, from a passenger's standpoint), but you can see the engine covers open a bit when they engage.

If you've read my stuff, you know about the typo gnomes already. I'm still in the process of finding them all.


	2. Chapter 2 - Fly

She loved to watch him fly.

Thrust had wide wings and a tall tail and those huge engines that spit out so much _power _that it blew her mind. And if she were close enough, rattled her straight down to her struts, settling in her core in such a way that caused her to run hotter for hours.

Orbit had friends that loved jets, specifically of the fighter variety. They swooned hard for the harshly backswept wings and predator's angles and the roaring flames of the afterburners. These were also the women who loved men who smelled of danger, and any aerial fighter to see combat absolutely reeked of it. Swagger, too, they had lots of swagger. Orbit gladly gave credit where it was due; nothing accelerated, decelerated, turned or rolled like a combat jet, and they could execute maneuvers that would rip the wings straight off other craft. It was certainly exciting to watch, but not anything for her to lose her mind over. Different strokes, she supposed.

Her appreciation of the entire jet type rested firmly on hefty airliners. They were all big, lumbering folk on the ground; it could be argued that the surface world was not made for them, since they were limited by their size in their interaction with other people. Orbit was rather modestly sized for a plane, and even she had issues fitting inside some structures. There were places she'd been that Thrust had never even seen. This often led to the big jets being rather clique-ish, since most of their relationships were with those that lived and worked in the large airstrips that were able to house their massive frames. They were different planes in the air, though. Once they touched off and stored their landing gear, they became confident and graceful, weight class be damned. Everyone of the jet liner lineage was a powerful, stately flier; _nothing _soared like them. Wind currents and weather that grounded other craft were a minor annoyance for their ilk, and as long as they had at least one engine functional they could operate just fine (relatively; landing was another issue entirely). Even with _no_ engines, they could glide like no one else; Orbit had watched Thrust shut his engines off for the fun of it, his wingspan (greater than his own overall length) easily bearing his weight aloft; he kicked them back on only when gravity and air friction began to pull him slowly back to earth.

She wasn't going to touch on his range. Thrust could pick up out of San Francisco and head across the continental US to London, with another seven hundred miles of fuel to spare. If she was truly jealous of anything, it was that.

Something pinged her radar, high above. Three broad white jet trails, at least forty thousand feet up. A trio of liners, in a rather lazy formation, passing her at speeds she could only dream of, well above the point at which her propellers stopped grabbing the thin air. These three were clearly headed in the same direction, since most planes sharing an airspace were content to chat with their neighbors over the frequencies instead of face to face. Large craft, in particular, rarely flew this close together. Few things were more uncomfortable than getting a face full of flaming-hot jet wash from someone else, never mind the turbulence created by your neighbor's wake.

Someone pinged her radio, and her HUD offered up a familiar number for the signal. She grinned and sent a reply, watching one of the craft break off from the other two and fall behind. In a group, he was always easy to spot; he was the one that was never content to fly in a steady, straight line for too long. Her radar blipped again. He was losing altitude at a speed that in anyone else could be described as falling. He liked to call it a dive, which implied much more control than the reckless plummet towards the ground he frequently engaged in. Nose-first or not, this was not a dive. She watched the miles between them fly away, his speed constantly tickling at Mach 1. He'd never quite reach it, but he certainly got an 'A' for effort.

At ten thousand feet from her he began to slow his descent, engines roaring as he goaded his momentum into swinging a wide, easy loop around her. How he managed to end his ballistic, breakneck swoop in such an elegant maneuver blew Orbit's mind. The apex of his turn included a beautiful radial G that could make a flight instructor drool. It was a testament to the strength of his wings; how he succeeded in not snapping off one of those huge turbofans was not worth the headache of puzzling it out.

He pulled up at her side, his wingtip a mere dozen feet over her canopy. He grinned that smarmy, devil-may-care grin at her, practically wiggling from his adrenaline-soaked race towards the ground.

Or maybe he was just impatient with her relatively low speed. It was hard to tell.

She gave a quick glance below her. There was a canyon slowly winding its way through ruddy stone hills, a narrow river lazily cutting across the dry landscape. He wanted speed, huh? Let's see what he had. Waggling her wings to ensure she had his attention, Orbit put power to her engines, dropping swiftly into the gorge below. He fell behind on her radar, but she didn't give it much thought. Thrust could never resist a good-natured race—or a chance to watch his life flash before his eyes—and she fully expected to hear him thundering into the canyon in short order.

* * *

He loved to watch her fly.

Orbit was built lean and sleek, with gracefully tapered wings (complete with those adorable winglets at the end!) and that high, beautiful t-tail. She had such a fine control over what her propellers did that she could turn a lazy, routine flight into a work of art. Her engines also made a deep, smooth purring sound when she threw power into them that Thrust could listen to all day.

Thrust had always had a taste for all flavors of women, but there had forever been a special fondness for turboprop girls. They tended more towards cleverness than bravado, even those that enjoyed brisk, adrenaline-fueled careers (hardly the rule, but the stereotype still held often enough). Although most were more serious than brash, Thrust had long ago observed that a comfortable, happy turboprop would start to show her spunky side, and they _all_ had one. He had discovered several marks on choice parts of his belly after many a rousing night that was a testament to the sheer amounts of freak that could come out. Good times.

Orbit dropped away beneath him (but not before wagging her wings at him in such a way that was so cute he just wanted to bite them), diving into a steep canyon that carved its way below them. Her ailerons flipped _just so_, merely enough to send her pitching the direction she wanted to go. She made him feel like such a bumbling, clumsy oaf; slower than him, yeah, but she could execute turns that he couldn't even fathom doing with any degree of success. Any rolls she made were slow, tight, controlled, and she made it look damned easy. Thrust had always thought that she could race. She might be a bit towards the larger end of that class of plane, but she had the heart for it. She just needed to lighten up and not be so rigid all the time.

Hm, somewhat too strong a word. Cautious, she needed to be less cautious.

Like what was happening right now. He could do with more of this. She was plummeting into the canyon, her wingtips just narrowly inside the riverbank at the bottom. She hugged her belly to the water, her wake creating whirls of spray at her tail. She rolled with the winding river, just _barely_ avoiding scraping a winglet against the smooth rock faces. The river widened briefly, and Orbit pulled up just enough to make a leisurely, deliberate aileron roll, touching her wingtips to the water long enough to drag them for a bit. She made it look as easy at breathing. Which he should do more of right now, if he wished to live a long life.

Once she was right side up again, she shot him a look. Her face fell a bit. What? What did he do? Or not do? Orbit eased off her throttle a bit, and made a face that Thrust would duly describe as a pout, even though she was decades too old to admit any action of the sort. He smirked, causing her to frown in return, giving another, more vigorous, wave of her wings.

Oh. _Oh._ Well, he was just a clumsy oaf, now wasn't he?

Thrust gave the canyon walls only the smallest of consideration before dropping, port wing first, into the gorge. Orbit grinned, pushed more into her engines again, and took off. The lower depths were far too small for him to enter (hardly the width of _one_ of his wings, and no matter what she said, he had no desire to die yet), but the upper edges had just enough space for him to roll and change his bearings. He could see her up ahead, barely, as her tail rounded another turn. Thrust was not going to dissuade her playfulness for the sack of being on time to anywhere. Were people dying? No? Then they could wait. He opened his own throttle and bolted after, regarding his speed as he navigated the stone cliffs. It would be a total mood-killer to snap a wing off out in the wilderness. He wasn't too worried, though.

After all, four hundred seemed a nice, safe pace.

* * *

AN:

More fluffy nonsense. Because that's what they do best.


	3. Chapter 3 - School's Out for Summer

They had lost the children.

Orbit had poked her nose into at least half the buildings at the airport, but so far, they were nowhere to be found. Several tugs and chaperones were scouring the terminals (how a whole group of kids could have gotten inside without tipping _anyone _off was beyond her), which left any aircraft "in the know" to snoop around the tarmac. Orbit sniffed and backed out of the storage hangar. It was times like this when she was glad she had never become a parent; a whole field trip, lost at a secure airport? She'd be climbing up the walls.

Really though, the entire field trip. Poof.

A nearby summer camp had gotten clearance to bring some of their kids down to the local municipal airport to have a look about. Often enough, children of the non-aircraft variety did not get to mingle with their massive winged brethren, especially if raised in a large city. Large buildings and broad wingspans do not mix. It was a good opportunity to broaden their horizons. And, ostensibly, to learn how an airport was run. But really, that took back seat to the little gear-nibblers asking all manner of questions, especially awkward, personal ones. It made the chaperones wince, but most of the aircraft within earshot of the kids took it in good humor (those that didn't found other places to be, or were cordially invited to excuse themselves by planes large enough or old enough to command that sort of respect and get it). Orbit had received the radio alert advising craft to be mindful of the younglings currently visiting, and with nothing better to do with her time (Thrust was across the campus getting his fan blades checked), she figured being curious was better than being idle. She had entered the bizjet compound only to run smack into a large cluster of children prodding at a Cessna's propellers and generally not knowing how to ask questions in turn. Orbit's arrival had peeled off a great deal of the crush around the besieged plane, and given the expression on his face, he was _exceedingly _grateful.

Orbit was rescued in turn by the arrival of Meredith, an old associate from her business plane days. A beautiful, sturdy LJ-45 with a slightly aloof disposition and the gift of gab and knowing just the right place to be to land a ridiculously lucrative job (she did look nice in that new black and gold paintjob her new tech tycoon boss insisted she wear), she liked to "slum it with the plebes" when she wasn't working. "You guys help clear all the upper crust stuffiness right out," she was fond of saying. Orbit was not expecting, then, the sheer amount of gushing that happened upon her arrival. Meredith gave a half-squeal, made a beeline for the group, and spent the next half hour gleefully entertaining every off-the-wall question any of the little spawn could think of. After rolling with the first few curve balls, the chaperones got the hint that there wasn't a thing these kids could say to curb her enthusiasm. If this woman hadn't already contracted the baby rabies, then it was well into its incubation.

And yet, somehow, even Meredith had taken her eyes off of them for just long enough for the lot of them to fly the coop. So to speak. In the same vein, she was now one of the aircraft with all her senses and instruments tuned to anything that might be a wayward child. If Meredith freaked out any more than she was right now, Orbit would go deaf from the shrillness.

Orbit rolled to apron of the Child Free hangar when she spotted something; even clear across both runways, beyond several other large planes and a good couple dozen gates down, Thrust's massive white tail was hard to miss. He was out of maintenance, evidently, but still firmly on that side of the campus. He was moving away from her, at a pace that lacked any urgency whatsoever. Look at him, just ambling slowly down the tarmac without a care in the world. She opened a radio link with him; with his higher field of vision and sharply keener instruments, he might notice something the rest of them were missing.

"Good afternoon, stud."

"Hey, beautiful. I was just about to call you. You won't believe the day I'm having."

"Did they find something wrong with you, other than your broken sense of self-preservation?"

"Funny and cute. But no. _I _however found something _very_ interesting."

"Can it wait, Thrust? We have a… ah, small problem."

"So do I."

"Many small problems, actually."

"What a coincidence! Me too! I mean, it's not every day you find a baker's dozen-worth of children wandering aimlessly around an international airport."

Orbit just about choked on her own tongue. _No way. _The universe had a mighty strange sense of humor. She made her way down past the gates, mindful of aircraft who had work to do and schedules to keep. Ahead, Thrust had stopped, turning a slow, lazy ninety towards the runways. She jogged around a Southwest jet in time to catch a clear view of the white Lockheed. From the tower, you were liable to not see anything but the top of Thrust's fuselage and wings. But from the ground…

They were huddled up under his wings. Specifically, his port wing, which faced away from the tower. Some of the children were small enough to creep up under his belly. The rest crowded close to his landing gear, shielded from the prying eyes in the sky. Even at this distance, Orbit could see his lips move, and given the wide, easy smile on his face, it wasn't anything close to the admonishment they should be getting for running loose (which still boggled Orbit's mind; there were close to ten adults in that hangar. Were they training ninjas at this summer camp?).

Orbit cleared the congested gate traffic and made it out to the taxiway. Thrust hadn't moved from where he'd stopped, still waiting for clearance to cross. She watched his gaze jog down the runway before his eyes narrowed, accompanied by that Devil May Care smirk that usually precluded all manner of Terrible Things that seemed to happen around him. His mouth was moving, gaze still pinned to the end of the runway. Orbit turned long enough to follow his line of sight. Queued next for takeoff was an older US Air, most assuredly from her and Thrust's generation. Orbit flew through radio channels to the US Air private frequencies, trying to find just the right—

"—I'm only halfway down the line, man, and this strip is two miles. You can roll that far. Or are you getting old?"

Ah. There they were.

"Please. I'm not even fully loaded; I can go from the ground to the air in a little over half a mile. Why would I double that?"

"To do us a favor."

"I just see _one _old dog. Who is 'us'?"

"Just some kids and I."

"You've _spawned? _Our species is doomed. How'd you convince your lady to willingly breed with you?"

"Har har. They ain't mine, I'm just watching them before their minders come lookin'. And I'd have to convince myself first."

"Heh, that's a relief. Good to know some things never change."

"Like your personality."

"Like your _maturity._"

"Oooooh, like I've never heard that one before."

Orbit rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

"So can we get that favor or are you too tired? Gotta get to Phoenix to take your widdle nappy in the warm weather?"

"You're an idiot, and I hate you." No he didn't. Not in a million years. "Tell your brats to hold onto their bumpers."

Laughter.

"Love you, Richie."

"I hate you _so much, _Thrust."

Even from where she was, Orbit could hear the US Air wind up his engines. He rolled, and rolled, and rolled on passed the distance that a busy 737 could have touched off at. At about a quarter of a mile from Thrust he threw the rest of his power to his engines, rocketing down the airstrip, passed Thrust and the kids, before his wings finally caught enough air to push him skyward. On the ground though, his wash created a vortex of wind. Thrust just grinned into it, but the kids were buffeted as gusts a hundred miles an hour whipped around them. Even from the distance she was at, Orbit could hear them squeal and laugh, little brakes locked to keep them under their escort. A couple kept their wheels loose, and were taken for a short ride.

Orbit finally caught up, now opposite the group, but still with two wide runways between them. Thrust smiled at her, and said something that looked an awful lot like "wave to Orbit." And then she was pinned with about a dozen bright, excited eyes. And they all waved at her. It was inappropriate, given that there could be all manner of fines coming down the pipe for whomever watching the kids had let them take off on the grounds of a secure airport (the TSA was going to have a field day with this one), but she couldn't help but laugh. It was adorable; most of those kids didn't weigh as much as one of Thrust's rear gear assemblies. Even so, while evident that this was the first time than any of them had shared close space with a heavy-class jet, they were as comfortable with him as they were with their ground-bound chaperones. Once he got his clearance to cross, they squirmed up under and against him again, smiling and giggling to themselves as if they shared one massive, secret joke—and really, they did, but only until whomever was supposed to be minding the security cameras pointing in the _other direction_ got back to minding them.

Once shepherded safely across the runway, several of them tried to bolt. Thrust gathered them back under his wing in short order.

"Ah ah, remember guys: the cameras on the tower have lasers attached to them. You don't want them to see you out where you're not supposed to be."

A little sedan squinted suspiciously up at him.

"Do they _really _have lasers?"

"Of course they do. I used to have a massive, beautiful t-tail like Orbit. But then I was bad man, and they cut off half of it. I was lucky they left me with an engine back there."

"_Reeeeeeeeeally?_" She still did not look entirely convinced.

"As sure as I was writhing in pain after it happened. I just have a regular tail now. So sad."

Orbit rolled her eyes, still grinning. No wonder they liked him; he was, at heart, just like them. Had almost fifty years of life experience under his plating, but that merely made his mischief more complex.

Thrust smiled at her.

"So, who am I delivering these little tire biters to?"

Yeah, she should get to calling the camp councilors. They would want to know that their children were found whole, safe, and almost without incident. She wasn't yet sure if that stunt with Richie's wash counted.

"Let me bring them up."

A young truck nudged Thrust's nose gear with a tiny tire.

"Aw, do we have to go?"

Thrust grinned down at him.

"Well, maybe Orbit and I will keep a couple of you."

She cocked a brow at him.

"We can't, Thrust."

"Why not?"

"Because that's kidnapping."

"Pfft, you're no fun."

"And you're a bad, _bad _man."

Which, of course, was what he loved to hear.

"The baddest. That's why you're smiling."

"I'm smiling because you're adorable."

"Imagine how adorable I'd be with a couple of kids." Never mind the dozen or so currently hiding under him. She did, however, set the jokes aside for a moment. She leveled a straight look at him, core squirming somewhat.

"…are you being serious?"

She was met with a stare and a silently mouthed _hell no._

Orbit let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She should have known better; Perpetual Bachelor at Heart Thrust had been expressing his desire to remain unshackled from the responsibilities that procreating came with for years. Orbit had readily agreed; the life of a seasonal firefighter did not mesh well with full-time parent. Even so, Thrust had clearly missed his true calling; as he herded his rowdy charges into a nearby hangar with a "let's see if there's anything cool in here we can mess with," Orbit couldn't help wonder if he should do work with kids. Outreach, camp councilor, or the like.

Maybe in the off-season, Thrust might have a career as a substitute teacher. Ya know, if a school district didn't mind his blatant disregard for lesson plans.

And he stayed the hell away from chemistry.

And fire.

And chemical fires.

Hm, maybe not substitute teacher…

* * *

AN:

Because... just because. They're easy to write.

I'm hunting typos. Let's see if I can find them all. Its kinda like playing Where's Waldo.


	4. Chapter 4 - Ice Ice Baby

The cold never bothered Thrust.

In general, the cold wasn't paid any mind by most mid-size or larger fixed wings, all of whom were built for high altitudes, thin air, and low temperatures. Their bodies were well insulated, and as long as one kept their engines running or had enough anti-freeze, one's fuel lines managed to stay untouched.

Many aircraft, however, drew the line at cold, _wet_ weather. That particular combination caused slick runways, limited visibility conditions, and the bane of any aircraft: icing. Unless one fancied a fast, frigid slide towards death, aircraft avoided most contact with frozen water if at all possible.

Thrust included. Say what you want about his adrenaline addiction, he enjoyed living.

Which is how he found himself here, hunkered comfortably in a spacious hangar on a snowed-in airstrip. And by snowed in, he meant in the middle of a raging blizzard. And while the hangar itself was more than large enough for him to fit with room enough for other people (one's gotta love international airports), once you added those "other people" it began to get a little cramped. Thrust was slowly becoming desensitized to the prickle of people's fields along the ampullae on his wingtips and tail fins, although his lateral lines still let him know when someone got too close. Because of his size, he'd been offered a quieter hangar all to himself, but there was nary a bigger social butterfly than Thrust, and he was perfectly happy to sacrifice solitude and privacy for some scintillating conversation with perfect strangers. The strangers, in this case, were a young B737, a little gaggle of Cessnas, Pipers, and Grummans who were having a bit too much to drink, a few trucks and tugs, and a pair of Bell 407 air ambulances who looked like they were going to bury some pointy rotors in the loudly intoxicated small planes on the other side of the hangar.

And all that was disregarding Thrust's current conversation partner. When he'd entered the crowded hangar, he'd noted one corner that was distinctly void of conversation. No guessing why; it was inhabited by a massive Pave Low III, hulking in size and build even for his brutish type. He wasn't radiating the "approach at your own risk" that most helicopters in that class had refined into an art, but his rotors were folded. Maybe that was part of it. Unusual, though, for an unpissed (word now, he'd argue it) chopper to compact their blades.

And Thrust might have just let him be, except that he was sporting a very un-military paint job. The usual "Jolly Green Giant" matte grey-green was replaced with a sparkling, immaculate white and black livery, striped with gold accents. Decals along his body and flank raised Thrust's eyebrows. TxDPS? This guy was a southern cop? Thrust tempered down his excitement to reasonable levels, and made a slow, leisurely turn towards the Sikorsky's corner. Oh, the stories this guy must have…

And it would keep his mind off of… other things. Orbit was still outside somewhere. They did not make this trip together, but had coordinated itinerary to meet here before continuing their trip in tandem. Thrust had arrived first, despite leaving late due to, erm, "personal reasons," but Orbit hadn't been too far behind. It was far enough for her to get caught in the worst of the storm, though, and Thrust dearly hoped that she wasn't so far down the landing queue that a turn for the worst in weather caused her to be routed elsewhere. That, and Orbit was small (comparatively). He always wondered what it was like to be small enough to ride air currents into tight turns and dizzying spins. Currently, he was glad he couldn't. He also currently wished Orbit couldn't. Worry tasted bitter in his mouth, and it was unfamiliar enough to be extremely unpleasant. She was _fine._ Really.

Oh well. There wasn't a disagreeable train of thought that couldn't be completely avoided by striking up a convo with an utter stranger!

Thrust watched the Pave Low's eyes snap to him once it became clear he was headed in his direction. His facial expression was… not unwelcome, but he was clearly not expecting company. Hm, might take a few minutes to warm this guy up. No matter; chatting to the unchattable was Thrust's greatest joy in life. Sometimes it paid to be too big to be properly intimidated. And then Thrust watched his eyes trail up to the Lockheed's tail, where his crisp CAL FIRE brand and number were located. The big chopper sat up a little on his suspension, at least mildly intrigued. Thrust morphed his smirk into a warm smile. Very little opened up first responders like the company of other first responders.

"Good evening, man. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

The cop shifted minutely, but he gave Thrust a small smile regardless.

"Naw, you ain't botherin' nothin'. Just wasn't expecting you to come this way."

To Thrust's absolute delight, he had that warm, distinctive accent that he imagined every Texas cop should have. And he may have also had the deepest voice that Thrust had heard out of anybody, ever.

"I knew I was betting on my own wellbeing while approaching a chopper all shrunk up into a corner by himself."

The Sikorsky blinked, then gave a soft snort. His rotors relaxed a touch, fanning out slightly towards his flanks.

"Ah, sorry. An old habit that still dies hard. When you're one of the largest choppers on a base and you're forced to share space with everyone else, you get used to 'barracks storage,' as it were."

"Just wanted to make sure. Couldn't quite tell if you were here for the solitude."

"Ain't the solitude I'm here for, it's the heat." And he canted his head upwards. Right above them on the ceiling was a massive vent, pumping warm air frantically from the slats. Rather odd placement for a heating vent, especially considering how air currents tended to move in a massive building like this, but the way it was cradled into the hangar corner seemed to suit the big helicopter just fine.

"Quite the hot commodity you have, considering the weather."

"What you did there? I see it." That small smile was still in place. "Bruce, by the way."

"Thrust. My pleasure."

"'Thrust.' Your given name, or am I on nickname status already?"

"Given. It's what happens when you're born in the sixties; depending on how toasted your parents were, you are liable to end up with a name that may bite you down the road."

"That's mighty unfortunate."

"You're telling me. Try flirting with women at the bar. Most can't decide if I'm hilarious or way too forward."

"I've heard worse. All nicknames, though."

"Dirty nicknames are the best, especially when your friends don't want them."

A smile out of Bruce. A real one.

"Ain't that why we give 'em to 'em?"

The conversation with the Pave Low became the perfect way to pass the time, and he seemed just has happy to indulge Thrust's questions as Thrust was answering his. Bruce was former US Air Force, retired shortly after him and his concluded their deployment during Operation Desert Storm. Back stateside and with an all-consuming urge to keep busy, he'd applied to the TxDPS, and had been there ever since. The perfect combination of paramilitary and completely different, he envisioned retiring from the department somewhere way down the road. It let him do everything he could want; swiftwater rescue, air patrol and pursuit, traffic, community outreach. With his massive payload and ridiculously keen night vision (never mind his USAF SAR familiarity), he had been heartily encouraged by veterans in the department to apply for the search and rescue division, where he had eventually found his niche. Been stationed all over, from the southern border to the panhandle, but he was currently stationed at headquarters, where he instructed new recruits in the training academy when he wasn't in the field.

"Sure beats the hell out of bein' in the middle of the desert. I was raised in Texas, and didn't think it got any hotter than an August in El Paso. The Gulf was somethin' else."

"And now you're up here, holed up in a hangar while waiting for a blizzard to pass."

Bruce made a face. It was the least friendly expression Thrust had seen out of him yet.

"Next year, when the brass wants to send someone up north for a public safety conference, I am gonna decline as politely as possible. Somehow, when they said 'Washington' I added a 'DC' to the end. My mistake. This state is _cold._"

In DC's defense, Thrust didn't think it was much warmer over there, currently. Given the weather outside, though, he'd let Bruce have it.

"Or at least avoid November next time. It's much warmer in the summer."

"You're a little far from sunny California yourself. You come out here often?"

"Only during fire season, when these forests burst into flames."

"You Cali boys can't get enough of your own fire, huh?"

"Oh, we have plenty, trust me. But there's only so much crowding the airspace can take before they start shipping us out of state to lend a hand. And for better or worse, I often make the short list of folks to be sent. With my range, I can be anywhere in the country in a few hours."

"Sometimes I wish I had that kind of range. You tankers do seem to get around."

"Get around, or 'get around'?" Thrust knew he should ease-off his typical brand of humor with people he barely new, but his guttermind was a ravenous thing. It was out now, no getting it back. Bruce gave him a wry smirk.

"You know what I meant. At least you get to travel."

"Yeah, I do enjoy the non-stagnant nature of it."

A portable radio on a passing tug crackled, and Thrust found his attention diverted. Three voices, back and forth, at least one of which was the control tower, and another was apparently ground crew. All runways currently closed, with whole teams of trucks trying to clear it of snow and ice. Thrust checked several of his frequently-used private channels. His quiet ping went unanswered.

"You alright?" Bruce wasn't quite frowning, but his gaze was focused firmly on Thrust's face.

Thrust sighed, the smile returning. Was he really worried enough that other people were starting to notice? Cripes.

"Yeah, just… yeah. I'm waiting for someone."

"In this weather?" A gust of wind pushed against the building, rattling the hangar doors and walls. The resulting vibrations tingled against anyone with sensors fine enough to feel them. "You sure they weren't diverted?"

"Yes. She would have called." If Thrust could rely on anyone to keep him abreast of any changes to plans, it was Orbit. "She entered final approach an hour ago. I haven't heard anything since."

"Your ladyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Your class?"

"No. Much smaller, a former business plane. She's not much longer than forty feet."

"Yikes. Your kind can just power through, as long as you've got a place to land. For smaller planes? You say she's half my length, and there's a reason I'm on the ground in a nice, warm building." He politely omitted that all MH-53Js were also outfitted with adverse weather conditions in mind.

"Yeah." Thrust was still only half listening, frequently changing channels between the ground, the tower approach, and any other frequency Orbit might be on. So far, not a sign of her.

"If you don't mind my askin', what're y'all doin' up here anyway? Ain't it out of season for you?"

"We're here to visit with friends, now that we both have time off. It can be hard to go places together at any other time of the year, especially if they send us in different directions."

"Take it where you can get it, huh?"

"Yes." And there was more than one meaning to that, which Thrust found prudent to emphasize with a smarmy smirk. Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Again, not what I meant, but I guess there's that too."

"We're creative."

"I do not need to know."

Thrust grinned, and his radio crackled in his ear. He wouldn't have paid it any mind, he'd had it on intermittently for the past few minutes, but a familiar call sign was queued up next, and it made him jump hard enough to spook a passing fuel truck. Thrust gave him a sheepish, apologetic smile; heavy-class planes where dangerous when they moved like that. Bruce keyed in on Thrust's cues and opened his radio to tower approach to listen in.

"_Tower to SP67."_

_"SP67, go ahead Tower."_

_"Runway one-six is clear, you are cleared to land. Be advised of wind shear near the ground, possible ice, take it slow. SW B737 is due in behind you, currently on your six, flight level 60 at about five miles."_

_"Roger Tower. Wind advisory, take it slow."_

Thrust didn't bother to wait for the rest, and nodded to Bruce as he backed his tail out to swing around.

"Sorry for the abruptness, but I gotta bounce."

"You know you cannot actually help her land, right?"

"Yeah, but I _can_ do something else." Another stiff gust rattled against the roof of the hangar. If Orbit was gonna get down to the ground, she'd better do it fast; if this wind got any worse, they'd be closing the runways for everyone, no matter the weight class. "It's in bad form to be cozy inside while you're lady toughs it out in a blizzard."

"You're actually goin' out there, ain't you?"

"Yes."

"To do what, wait by the door like a lost puppy?"

"Well… actually yes, I think that's about as far as I've gotten with the planning."

"You have no plan, don't pretend there's a plan."

"It's like you've known me for years." And Thrust couldn't resist a coy stage smile. Batted his eyes and everything. Bruce gave a resigned sigh, as if he was expecting to go outside in the morning and roll past Thrust's frozen corpse.

"Just don't freeze to death, yeah?"

"It's not on my list of Things to Do, kinda gets in the way of every other plan for this evening." The ampullae on his tail prickled, and he could hear the sudden growl of several engines as some variety of ground vehicles bailed swiftly out of his way. Oops, his bad. "It was nice talking to you."

"You too. If you ever have a reason to stop in Austin some time, ping our controllers. Tell 'em Sergeant Turbotorque sent you."

"The scariest name for the scariest 'copter. Can I just call _you_ if I ever need the police?"

Bruce leveled a straight look at him, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

"I have a hard time believin' you don't have any beasts out where you're from. Some of those Coasties get big."

"Maybe, but you're a _Pave Low cop from Texas._ It doesn't get much more badaft than that."

A deep, rumbling chuckle bubbled out of the massive chopper, and he dismissed Thrust's entire last comment with another eye roll.

"Ain't you about to go do somethin' stupid outside in a blizzard?"

"Ah see, we're friends already!"

"I would try to stop you, but that ain't happenin'."

Thrust just grinned and dipped his head, a gesture Bruce returned. He completed his wide turn, before making for the hangar doors, dutifully ignoring the protesting shouts as he nudged it open to head outside. He suppressed a shiver as his plating quickly went from nice and warm to bitter cold. He couldn't see anything much passed the lights in front of the hangar, and the snow was already starting to gather in the seams of his flaps, melt, and refreeze. Quite a slap in the face, going from heated corner to frigid, paint-stripping blizzard, but that was alright.

Teeny tiny Orbit had been out in this for an hour. He could handle it for a few minutes.

* * *

It was cold as hell out here. If hell was an icy wasteland instead of a smelting pit.

They had been on the way to meet with longtime friends in northern Washington. Not together; Orbit had taken a brief trip home to visit family, while Thrust had been invited last minute to the bachelor party of one of his old college friends. He hadn't left the airport until the very last minute, probably so that he just barely scraped by the eight-hour booze limit on filing IFR flight plans. Even so, he'd arrived a couple hours before she did, the lucky bastard. When he'd hit the ground, there had been a weather advisory. By the time Orbit was on final approach, it had become a true blizzard. Large planes were handling it fine, until they _weren't_, and when Orbit got a call from the tower to take a lap, she did. Adverse weather with limited visibility was what ATC was for, and if they wanted her to come around again, so someone could have time to roll off the slippery tarmac, she wouldn't argue. Rolling face first into the aft of a jet was also not a fun way to end her evening.

Her single lap had swiftly turned into many laps. She kept her radio tuned to the tower; in these conditions, it was best to keep in constant contact with the people in charge of a million dollars worth of powerful radar and GPS equipment. He own radar worked fine, and she was glad it did (she was hardly the only one in a holding pattern above the airport, and she made damned sure she was well out of the way of the heavier planes around her), but it was reassuring to get an updated set of coordinates for her to follow, and to be entirely confident that no one else happened to want to share space in that cloud, either.

Down below, the three-runway airport was swiftly reduced to just one. The ground crew was working frantically to keep the runways just clear enough of ice to keep people landing. If you weren't already in the air, you were grounded. If you weren't in the immediate airspace, you were diverted. Orbit could feel the numbness starting to nibble at the edges of her wings and tail. She had long ago lost feeling in her ailerons and flaps, although they still moved when she wanted them to. Probably. At least she was still able to fly.

She felt her radar ping off the Russian Il-62 that was sharing a flight path with her as he pitched his nose up in a steep ascent. Eventually he leveled off, still following the same hold coordinates but high above her.

Above the clouds, more like. Now, why hadn't that occurred to her? She radioed the tower for clearance, felt around her for anyone she needed to stay away from, and put power to her engines.

It was a rough ride; the winds were as fierce as they had been all night. The last airstrip was down for some emergency shoveling. The plows and deicers were earning their keep tonight. She eventually flew free of the cloud layer. While still almost painfully cold, it was free of precipitation, and oh mercy she could _see._ A few miles in front of her, she watched the Il-62 make a slow bank around, continuing the pattern. Other aircraft started to follow them up, and soon there was a good half dozen of them, slowly circling in a wide formation around the airstrip none of them could see.

Only then did Orbit dare leave the tower channels. She flicked slowly through frequencies typically under use by her and Thrust. Big blockhead had been able to touch down before the plows had come out, but all he really had to worry about was ice buildup; he was heavy enough, and powerful enough, that snow didn't do much of anything to his landing gear, other than force him to make a more cautious landing than he otherwise would have. Y'know, like a normal plane.

What she would give for some of his abnormality right now. She expected to hear him call half an hour ago, ATC-controlled radio frequency be damned, asking her where she was at. Oh, it would embarrass the hell out of her, but they'd laugh about it later. Make her feel warm inside, for sure, and gods she needed that right now.

An Airbus up ahead of her took a sudden descent into the cloud layer, and Orbit beat a hasty retreat back to the approach channel. At least one runway back up, another almost there, and they were working to clear the backlog of planes in holding before the worst weather arrived.

So it was only going to get more terrible. How nice. Pardon her while she sipped on that sweet sarcasm.

The Il-62 was next, then a Leerjet. She recognized his flight number from more than an hour ago. He'd been due in right before her.

It was damned hard not to pull herself from holding until she heard her number called.

Orbit rode the waves of her relief through that storm. The driving winds and stinging snow seemed bearable when she only had to tough it out for a little while longer before being able to trundle into a nice warm hangar. Preferably with a nice warm TriStar to defrost her plating on. That thought alone had pushing so much power through her engines that ATC reminded her to watch her speed on touchdown. She reined it in, but barely.

Once she put her tires into the snowy tarmac, she was glad she did. Never mind the terrible visibility—she had barely seen beyond her lights, and HIRL be damned but that runway had materialized underneath her out of nowhere—but the asphalt was a slick beast that made her very aware of how easily a loss of control could happen. She laid into her brakes deliberately, but cautiously. Last thing she wanted at this point was to drift into a ditch.

Once safely on the ground, much to her overwhelming relief, she left the approach frequencies as quickly as she was able. She flew through her radio, passing and then returning to the one channel with a single plane emitting a slow, constant ping. The number danced across her HUD, and she had to resist a squeal. She just about failed.

_"Thrust."_

_"Hey, beautiful." _Never had his voice ever sounded so good. That constant, unflappable personality that sometimes made her fear for his self preservation. Right now, she needed it. She may be jealous of his time spent in a warm, dry hangar without precipitation in all his seams (and yes, she could feel it in there now), but all would be forgiven if he spent the next eight hours keeping the chill off of her.

_"Where're you at?" _And get her _out of here._

_"Take taxiway Juliet, heading east. Our hangar is on taxiway Kilo, on the left. Number 15." _A short pause. _"Are you alright?"_

_"Yeah. Cold and tired and damp, but I'll live." _But wait a minute. _"Are… were you worried about me?"_

_"No. No I was not." _Thrust, a good ninety percent of the time, was a terrible liar. _"Maybe. But just a little."_

_"That's adorable. You're adorable. If it eases your concern, I'll let you do my post-flight inspection once we get inside."_

_"Oh-ho! Are you sure about that? I'm not a certified inspector, I'll have you know. I failed the test because I get so… 'distracted' easily." _Oh, yes he did. She was counting on it.

_"Mm, I have it under good authority that you'll do just fine."_

_"I should fly you through a snowstorm more often. You come out of it so kinky!"_

_"If you think this is kinky—"_

_"…Especially since we're sharing this hangar with about ten-ish other people."_

_"…dammit, Thrust. Just when I got my hopes up."_

_"Other people are kind of a mood-killer, huh?"_

_"YES, yes they are."_

_"Boo, and just as I was… oh hey, there you are! I can see your lights. Let me kick on mine."_

Why the hell would he turn on his forward lights? It's not like he needed them from inside the—oh hell no.

Thrust was not inside the hangar at all (number fifteen, just as he said, if she was reading that blurry, snow-obscured paint on the side of the building correctly), instead parked a short ways outside. He had both is forward and running lights on, and they were easier to see than the small blue taxiway illuminators that were hampered by the snow. Speaking of, it was all over him. A modest amount on his slick fuselage, but it lay in thick mats along both his wings. Not just snow either; in places where it didn't have a flat enough grade to pile up, thick crusts of ice had formed instead. Along his wingtips, Orbit though she saw the infant beginnings of icicles. The only parts of him not frozen over were most of his face, and his engines. They were on and running, sucking in cold air and snow like it was nothing and blowing hot exhaust out the back; he had a good two-hundred feet behind him that was perfectly dry, and probably warmer than she was.

Orbit was overdue some turbofan envy, and she was getting a good dose of it right now.

Not that Trust noticed. He did nothing but beam at her as she approached, wiggling happily on his gear.

"Good evening, dollface."

"Why the hell are you outside? You have a nice, dry hangar a good body length and a half away!" And _him _being _here_ made it significantly more difficult for her to reheat her skin off of his massive frame.

His smile lessened somewhat, from sun-in-the-eyes beaming to his soft smirk.

"Because I promised I'd meet you here."

"'Here' could have still been inside. Where it's warm."

"Meh, got tired of waiting."

"It would only have been a couple seconds more oh forget it—" and Orbit simply buried her nose against his flank, as far as she could go. He wasn't going to listen anyways, and she was elated to see him, driving blizzard or no. Thrust put his own broad nose against the curve between her wing and her body, mindful of her numb, frozen propellers. The closeness broke off some of the ice from Thrust's skin, which sloughed off onto Orbit's head.

"You were supposed to keep me warm, you dork."

"I can still do that." His breath was warm, at least, puffing out against her back.

"Not with the Norwegian tundra growing from your plating you can't."

"I have an easy fix for this called Going Inside." He pulled back, and began to gently herd her towards the hangar doors.

"Do you ever listen to yourself?" The hypocrisy. It was alive.

"Psh, no. That's mighty self centered."

"You're doing this on purpose."

"You betcha. I haven't seen you for a week; you have no idea the amounts of nonsense I have saved up." He nosed the doors open, but canted a wing up to let her enter first.

"You didn't get any of it out during the bachelor party?"

"Not enough; had to fly the next day remember?" So he _did_ leave late in order to make the "Bottle to Throttle" lockout. Lucky bastard. "Oh! That reminds me! There's a guy in here you _need_ to meet."

"Have you been imposing yourself on random strangers all night?" Orbit smothered the gasp that swelled up unbidden as she felt warm air for the first time in hours. She could melt into the floor right here and sleep. Someone please just tow her out of the way.

"Just one, thank you very much, and I asked politely."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Hardee-har. Seriously though, I'm gonna introduce you, and tell me if his voice honestly doesn't sound like thunder dipped in chocolate."

"Like _what?_" But he was off, as soon as he crossed the threshold. He trailed little slushy puddles of melting snow and flaking ice as he went, but there was nothing to do for that but apologize to everyone he passed.

"Heeeey, Chocolate Thunder! Lookie what I found outside!"

And it began. Orbit could feel her evening stretch out before her. As she nudged the hangar door closed on the howling blizzard outside, she realized it wasn't all that bad. Thrust's personality was always warm, even when his plating wasn't.

And she was willing to sit through the most awkward conversations for that.

* * *

AN:

Because Orbit and Thrust were long overdue some shenanigans. My apologies, at about halfway the tone and direction of the story seems to have run away from me. Ah, well. There's a reason this is separate from War Stories; it means I can play in my sandbox without a care for really solid coherency.

TxDPS Sergent Bruce Turbotorque is my new toy. Hopefully I'll get to bring him out again to play at some point in the future.

Words!

Sikorsky MH-53J Pave Low III: One of the most badass helicopters around. Another author here termed it "Chopperzilla," and the moniker is apt. These things make even Skycranes and Chinooks look small. Almost ninety feet from most to tail, not including its massive six-bladed rotor assemblies. These are USAF craft, and they fold their rotors for storage. It looks cool when they do it, too; almost like a dragonfly's but more on the sides. They carry some of the best infra-red and night vision equipment around, and are sturdy enough to fly in some really unfavorable conditions. These always make my top ten list of favorite aircraft, ever.

TxDPS: Texas Department of Police Services. This is a statewide umbrella organization that includes the Texas Rangers, the Texas Highway Patrol, and Aircraft Operations, amongst many others. They have a surprising amount of aircraft at their disposal.

Insert obligatory typo warning here. You all know the deal by now.


End file.
